


{Un}disclosed Desires

by mktellstales



Series: Archived Work: 2013-2015 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mj's Stories, NOT JOHN, Sexy, Who says Sherlock isn't a sexual being, but classy, f/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mktellstales/pseuds/mktellstales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea that Sherlock Holmes isn’t a sexual creature is ridiculous. He is, after all, a human being, and not just a human being, but a man; an intelligent man who can rattle off 50 ways to make a woman come in less than a minute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	{Un}disclosed Desires

**Author's Note:**

> I found a lack of fics where Sherlock was sexual with someone other than John, and it inspired me to write this.  
> Don't get me wrong, I love me some johnlock, and have written one of those as well- this is just an attempt at something a little different.
> 
> I like to be descriptive, but I don't like to be graphic, so I hope my point gets across just as well!
> 
>  
> 
> Recommended Song: Crimson and Clover- Tommy James and the Shandelles

The idea that Sherlock Holmes isn’t a sexual creature is _ridiculous_. He is, after all, a human being, and not just a human being, but a man; an intelligent man who can rattle off 50 ways to make a woman come in less than a minute. He is aware of his own physical appearance; he doesn’t just know that he _looks good_ in his slim trousers and tightly buttoned shirt, he makes sure that it is so. He is aware of the attention his aristocracy face brings from women and men alike; he isn’t oblivious to it, isn’t even ignoring it, he is just dismissing it.

Sherlock knows he will never find someone who can match his wits, someone he can tolerate for more than an hour, _two_ at the most (No, that had already been found in John), so his standards aren’t nearly as high as one would imagine, though he won’t settle for just any girl; not the fan ran into on the street (since when did detective work acquire a fan base?), not the woman stumbling home from the bar, no, none of them will do. Sherlock found the library to meet his requirements; at least he will know that she can read.

He’ll prowl through the stacks, until just the right woman appears. Maybe she will turn out to be a slim brunette in the foreign language section. He will stop, find a chair to sit in and watch her, unnoticed, and _deduce_ her to her bare bones.

The book she is reading is a novel; French. She isn’t just learning, but rather the _mots parles_ are something she is familiar with, something that rolls off her tongue with ease. Her fingernails aren’t polished, so her work must involve getting her hands dirty. A nurse perhaps; no, her four inch heels are much too insensible for that, even if it was her day off. A scientist perhaps; someone who spends her days behind goggles, mixing chemical with chemical, and a flake falling from her nail would comprise month’s worth of work.

Sherlock giggles to himself; he’ll never be that lucky.

He will eventually rise from the chair and meet with her, idly grabbing a book nearby to hold in his hands. He will introduce himself, compliment her dress, and then ask it she would like to join him for coffee around the corner. She will, of course, oblige. Because he is charming, and dashing, and _oh so beautiful_.

During coffee Sherlock will learn that she is an archaeologist, a natural blonde, and has a cat named Snickers. It is information he will delete by the end of the day, information he doesn’t care to know, but he does his best to listen while bringing the hot, white porcelain of the cafe’s mug up to his lips every few seconds. His thoughts are beginning to wander off on their own down _dark_ alleyways.

He wonders if she will prefer to be on the bottom; her hands above her head, watching as he towers over her body. Or will she want to be on top; be in control of the situation he had dragged her (willingly) into? Sherlock doesn’t care either way so long as they both get thoroughly _fucked_.

He will pay their bill, and walk side by side with her to Baker Street. John is still at the clinic and Mr. Hudson is out of town at her sister’s, so if she happens to be a screamer no one will have to be disturbed. Sherlock wasn’t a screamer; though sometimes he would _growl_ from a place so deep inside himself that he could feel it vibrate down into the floorboards.

After they make it upstairs the brunette will admire the skull, take stock of the experimental kitchen and try on the hat. Sherlock will stand by and let her amuse herself until he’s decided that it’s time, until he is sure that she knows just exactly what she brought into his flat for. He walks across the room, places a hand at her waist to pull her in forward until she crashes against his body.

He licks at his lips before pressing them against hers, licking there too, pushing for admittance into her mouth; she parts her lips, allows Sherlock’s tongue inside, and deflates her shoulders at the magnificence of the feeling. Sherlock responds to her by taking the zipper of her dress between his thumb and his index finger and slowly unzipping the silver metal teeth; letting the fabric fall from her frame and drop onto the floor.

He runs the back of his hand down her side, swiping the gentle skin of her breast, tracing over her ribcage and stopping at the hem of her panties. He waits for a moment to see if she will undress him or if it’s something he will have to take on himself. She doesn’t seem to move, mesmerized by the man in front of her, so he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one until his chest is exposed.

The brunette seems to snap back into the reality of her situation and places her hand over his as he untucks the shirt from his trousers. She then undoes his belt, unzips the pants and lets them fall much near where her own dress is.

They kiss again, and their feet stumble over each other as Sherlock leads her down the hallway to his bedroom, their lips still locked, both nearly naked. He lays her down on top of the duvet, and abandons her lips for her neck; her pulse is quick bouncing at the thin membrane beneath her skin trying to explode. Sherlock brings his lips lower; kisses her collarbone then the top of her left breast. She wiggles at the sensation and Sherlock smile against her skin as he continues his quest to research her body.

He traces his tongue from the crevasse of her breasts down to her navel, stopping again at the red satin barrier. He pushes them from her hips, forcefully with both hands, slide them from her feet and throws them across the floor. He kisses a path from her ankle, up her calf and around to her inner thigh.

“Sherlock” she moans as if they had been lovers forever.

Her voice is soft, but it drips with want; want for Sherlock, for the strange, beautiful man she met at the library.

Sherlock wants her too, evident by the erection clamoring to break free. He takes off his briefs, throws them somewhere indiscriminately and presses down against her, feeling the heat and _friction_ from her thigh.

It turns out that she likes to lay side by side. Sherlock wraps an arm around her torso from where he lies behind her, her hair ticking at his face. He grips his fingers into the soft skin of her stomach as he thrusts into her. Soft cries escape her mouth, labored sighs leave his as he speeds up his movement feeling her crush her hips backward toward him, leaving no space between their bodies.

Sherlock’s body begins to stiffen and he knows he is going to come, but this isn’t just about him, he wants to make sure the interruption to the brunette’s day is worthwhile. He takes his hand from her torso and slides it down further her body, pressing his finger down, curling into a hook and stroking her until she’s moaning in frenzy.This brings Sherlock over the edge, and he takes her with him.

He will lay with her for a moment before she makes the first move to break their interlocked position. She will gather her clothes scattered around the bedroom and the living room, and redress.

Sherlock will wrap his dressing gown around his body, and offer her tea as she is slipping on her high heels. She’ll decline, but thank him for the _lovely_ afternoon, and leave her number near the skull. Just in case.

Sherlock will walk her down the stairs to the outside door and kiss her goodbye. He’ll return to the flat, pick his own clothes up from the floor, toss them in his bedroom, and put a kettle on for tea. He will take a book down from the shelf, and sit on the sofa to wait for the uneven patter of John’s footsteps as he comes home from work.


End file.
